


Warm Sun, Blue Sky

by owlinaminor



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-14 01:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3402629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlinaminor/pseuds/owlinaminor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Simon takes Kieren on a surprise vacation for their one-year anniversary and, as they probably should’ve expected, nothing goes entirely according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warm Sun, Blue Sky

**Author's Note:**

> in the time-honored tradition of "Betsy writes fic vaguely based on stuff that happens to her," we have here a fic about Simon and Kieren going on vacation in the very place where I am currently on vacation. imagine that.
> 
> thanks goes to [Hannah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hparrott97) for her beta-ing! and feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](http://cartercommaagent.tumblr.com/) if you so desire. :)

Kieren Walker returns home to find the front door unlocked.

This is not, in itself, surprising – Simon often works from home, writing articles or brochures in the hopes of constantly improving the UFERA’s educational materials, in which case he usually leaves the door unlocked for Kieren when he returns – but as far as today in particular is concerned, Kieren is at least ninety-five percent sure that Simon said he was going to visit their London office, so nobody should be home -- _should_ being the key word there.

Kieren turns the doorknob slowly and pushes the door open carefully, attempting to stay as quiet as possible as he listens for strange activity.  (It’s unlikely that someone is actually trying to rob a modest, medium-sized condominium in Roarton, but ULA extremists have come after Kieren and Simon before, and they could very well do it again.)

So far, though – nothing.  The front hallway looks no different from usual, and no Undead are lurking in the living room.

Still, Kieren keeps a tight hand on his keys, and grabs a frying pan off the drying rack as he passes through the kitchen.  He may not be freakishly strong like Amy or have martial arts training like Jem, but at least he can defend himse –

_“Yeah, I’m sure he doesn’t know.  He won’t suspect a thing!”_

The voice is coming from the bedroom.  It would be very unlike a ULA assassin to openly announce their presence, and it would be _extremely_ unlike a ULA assassin to sound exactly like Simon.

Kieren drops the pan with a clatter and comes to a halt in the doorway to the bedroom.

“Who won’t suspect what?”

Simon – caught in the act of ... emptying the contents of their dresser, apparently – turns suddenly.

“Kieren!” he exclaims, eyes wide.  “You aren’t supposed to be home for another hour!”

“And you aren’t supposed to be home at all,” Kieren retorts.  “What’s going on?”

Simon presses a button on his phone (ending his call), then reaches up to rub the back of his neck.  “I suppose it might be good that you’re here, actually,” he muses.  “I can’t find a pair of shorts anywhere.”

Kieren just eyes him suspiciously.  Shorts?  In December?

“Okay, and, um, I can’t tell you why,” Simon goes on.  “You weren’t supposed to find out about this until you got home and the bags were already packed, but I guess that wouldn’t have happened anyway, since, like I said, I can’t find any shorts.”

Kieren continues staring.

“Please?” Simon asks.  “I love you.”

And the unfortunate fact of the matter is, although Kieren’s willpower is impervious to almost everything, it cracks incredibly easily in the face of those three words from that particular person.

Kieren sighs, crosses the room, drops his keys on the bed, kisses Simon, and points to a shelf on top of the closet, upon which sits a large cardboard box clearly labeled “SHORTS.”

“Oh,” Simon breathes.

In response, Kieren merely shakes his head, wondering how the man ever managed to survive without him.

* * *

“So, you really can’t tell me where we’re going?” Kieren asks an hour later, taking the first five books off his _To Read_ stack and dropping them into his suitcase.

Simon snags book number six off the stack for himself.  “Do _you_ really think my answer will be any different than it was the first hundred times you asked?”

Kieren shrugs.  “Worth a shot.”

“Jesus.”  Simon shakes his head.  “If you’re this irritating now, I can only imagine how terrible you must’ve been as a child.”

“Jem _did_ spend extensive periods of time hating me, that much is true,” Kieren admits.  He tosses in a couple of T-shirts, then asks, “But is there anything else you _can_ tell me?”

“Nothing I haven’t already told you twenty times,” Simon replies.  “I could test you on the few things I’ve told you, and you’d get top marks, no problem.”

To demonstrate his knowledge, Kieren lists off facts, one for each pair of shorts he adds to his suitcase.  “We’re going somewhere, we’ll be gone for a week, the flight leaves in four hours, and we need summer clothes.”

“See?  You don’t even need me!” Simon says.  “Well, except for the actual plane tickets.  And the flight number.  And the destination.”

Kieren grabs underwear and socks, then chucks those in as well.  “I’m just worried about leaving the UFERA alone for a week.  Will they be okay without us?  What if some crisis comes up, and they don’t know what to do?”

Simon takes a couple of steps in Kieren’s direction so that he can reach up and cradle his boyfriend’s face in his hands.  “Amy, Casey, and Elaine will be fine,” he says soothingly.  “And anyway, if something really major happens, the place we’re staying at has wifi.”

“Aha!” Kieren exclaims, triumphant.  “I knew I could get something else out of you!”

Simon sighs, aiming for exasperated but landing closer to fond.  “If only you were as good at packing as you are at espionage,” he laments.  He gazes pointedly towards Kieren’s suitcase, which is really less of a suitcase full of clothes and more of a pile of clothes that just happened to fall on top of a suitcase.

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be expert packers like you,” Kieren retorts.  “And there’s no need to get all high and mighty.  It’ll fit.”

Simon watches, not moving to either help or hinder, as Kieren pushes, shoves, and even sits on his clothes until, true to his word, they all fit.  Closing the suitcase is something of a challenge, but he manages it, just as he manages everything else.

“Ta-da!” he shouts, giving his one-man audience a bow.

“And you didn’t forget anything?” Simon asks, unimpressed.  “Toothbrush, shampoo, phone charger?”

“Of course I didn’t forget anything,” Kieren replies, insulted by the very notion.  “Did _you_?”

Simon is about to answer in kind when he realizes with a jolt that he neglected to grab his passport.

“You’re welcome!” Kieren calls from the kitchen, already wheeling his suitcase out.

He’s at the front door when Simon catches up to him, breathless with a suitcase in his hand, backpack on his back, and passport sticking out of his coat pocket.  Kieren takes a moment to shake his head at his boyfriend before opening the door to reveal –

“Amy?  What’re you doing here?”

“Wishing you boys a great trip, obviously!” she exclaims.  “And besides, _someone_ had to bring Steve’s car over after Simon completely forgot to stop by.”

(A quiet, “Oh, my God” is audible from behind them.  They both ignore it.)

“Wait, so you knew about this?” Kieren asks, heading towards Steve’s car – which is, in fact, currently parked in his and Simon’s driveway.

“Of course, dum-dum!  No way could Simon keep anything from me.”

“But he could from _me_ , apparently,” Kieren muses.  And then, something else occurs to him: “Wait, Amy, you’re allowed to drive the car now?  How?  Did you bribe my dad with sexual favors?  Please tell me you didn’t bribe my dad with sexual favors.”

“She didn’t!” Jem announces from the driver’s seat.  “I’m driving!”

Kieren’s jaw drops.  “ _You_ knew, too?” he accuses.  Then, turning on Simon, “Does all of Roarton know?  Does the entire bloody _country_ know?”

Simon reaches up with his free hand to rub the back of his neck.  “Well ....”

“Oh, my God –” Kieren starts.  Luckily for everyone involved, Amy pushes him into the back seat before he can rant at Simon for very long.  He then starts up about why he has to sit in the back while Simon gets to sit in the front, to which Jem replies that she doesn’t trust her ability to drive if he’s next to her, and besides, who knows what he and Simon could do to sully that backseat.  And by the time Kieren has come up with a decent response to _that_ , they’re already well on their way to the airport.

* * *

During the next sixteen hours or so, Simon is forced to employ a vast range of tactics in order to ensure that Kieren doesn’t discover their destination prior to arrival.  These tactics include, but are not limited to: checking in as quickly as humanly possible, carrying both bags from check-in to baggage drop-off (so that Kieren can’t see the destination on the baggage tags), whipping their boarding passes quickly in and out of Kieren’s face as they go through security, not going to their gates until right before boarding ends, and covering Kieren’s ears every time an announcement pertinent to their flight is made.

This all goes on much to Kieren’s ever-growing irritation.  He attempts to employ some counter-conspiratorial measures of his own, even going so far as to drag Simon into an airport bathroom, push him into a stall, and then grope him in an attempt to dislodge the boarding passes from his pocket.  (In a feat of true composure under pressure, Simon manages to stop the groping just before the boarding passes are breached.)

Still, as they travel from London to Paris to Point-a-Pitre, Kieren gets closer and closer to finding out the truth.  He manages to buy a world map from a shop in the Paris airport, and starts marking off places they couldn’t possibly be going until he’s narrowed it down to probably somewhere in the South America region.  Kieren enthusiastically shows off the map to the old woman sitting next to him on their third flight (out of Point-a-Pitre) in the hopes of securing her intelligence to aid in his quest, but she only finds his story about how Simon is keeping their destination from him “enchanting” and starts recanting stories of the many ways her husband had wooed her when they were young.

In the end, Simon’s efforts were valiant to be sure, but all is eventually in vain after he falls asleep an hour into the last flight.

_“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking.  I’m pleased to inform you that we will be landing in Saint Martin on schedule_ –”

“ST. MARTIN!” Kieren shouts.

Simon stirs, moving his face from Kieren’s shoulder to the much harsher open air.  “What?”

Kieren shakes him off, sitting up straight in his seat and grinning.  “We’re going to Saint Martin.  Saint Martin!”

Simon – now lying across Kieren’s lap – groans in response.

“Saint Martin!” Kieren repeats. Then, upon consideration, he adds, “Where _is_ Saint Martin?”

“It’s an island in the Caribbean,” Simon mutters.  “Half is a French colony, the other half Dutch.  Now, for the love of God, can you stop _shouting_?”

Kieren complies, stroking Simon’s hair as a peace offering for waking him up.

Still, as soon as Simon’s asleep again, Kieren whispers, “Saint Martin!” a couple of times and fist-bumps the woman sitting next to him.  He has to explain the concept of fist-bumping to her in detail, but it’s totally worth it.

* * *

After waiting in line for passport check for nearly half an hour (Simon timed it on his watch), Simon and Kieren are summoned by a stern woman in uniform.

Upon their appearance outside her cubicle, she demands in a dry monotone befitting her occupation, “Passports.”

Both men hand them over, as requested.

The woman looks the passports over in silence for what Kieren thinks is perhaps longer than absolutely necessary.

She next needs to know: “Length of stay.”

“One week,” Simon replies.

“Residence during that period.”

“Rosa’s Villa, in Grand Case.”

_Rosa’s Villa_ , Kieren repeats to himself.  He wonders if the villa is in fact a villa, not a hotel, run by an actual woman named Rosa – and, more importantly, if it will have a good place for him to paint.

“I see that both of you are former PDS sufferers,” the woman goes on.  “Do you have enough medication to last the duration of your stay according to your respective prescriptions, with extra medication in case of emergency.”

“We do,” Simon answers.  Kieren nods in agreement.

“Do you take full responsibility for any damage you may cause in the event of a serious relapse, including the violation of any laws of either Saint Martin or your country of origin.”

Both Simon and Kieren say that they do, and then Simon adds, “Actually, did you know that, back home in England, the two of us founded an organization that spearheaded the campaign to issue passports to former PDS sufferers?  Without that campaign, we wouldn’t be able to be here.”

The woman stares at him blankly for a minute – long enough that Kieren starts to think she might have fallen asleep with her eyes open.

Finally, she hands them back their passports in one curt motion and calls out, “Next.”

“Hey!” Simon exclaims, indignant.  “You could at least acknowledge what I said!”

The woman fails to acknowledge Simon’s existence, much less his words.

“Come on,” Kieren says, grabbing Simon’s hand and leading him away from the passport check.  “It’s not worth it.”

Simon allows himself to be led, but not without complaint.  “It wasn’t an easy fight, you know,” he mutters.

“I know,” Kieren consoles him.  “I was there.”

“But the _nerve_ of that woman, to suggest that what we did was _nothing_ , as though it was _easy_ to ...”

Simon continues to bemoan the rudeness of ignorant people in general and that official in particular at the baggage claim, through customs, and all the way out the door of the airport.  Kieren briefly considers gagging him, but then he remembers that Simon is the only one with any idea where they’re going, and thinks better of it.  And anyway, it’s not difficult to tune Simon out when he gets started on one of his rants, as long as one nods and “uh-huh”s at the right places, a skill which Kieren has perfected in the past year.  Sometimes, though, he slips.  It’s rare, but it happens: Kieren is distracted enough by something else that he forgets to pretend to listen, and the rant trickles off into nothingness.

The moment Kieren and Simon step out of the Saint Martin airport is one of those times.

Admittedly, Kieren has an extremely valid excuse for his distraction: the island of Saint Martin is so vastly divergent from England in every conceivable way that his body needs a few seconds to adjust.  Where England’s climate was cold and damp, Saint Martin’s is warm and windy.  Where England’s people were prone to inhospitality, Saint Martin’s greet Kieren and Simon with bright smiles.  Where England’s sky was gloomy and gray, Saint Martin’s is more brilliant a blue than Kieren has ever found in one of his paint tubes.  Where England’s scenery consisted primarily of shrubs, hills, and grass, Saint Martin’s consists of palm trees, mountains, and far-off views of the ocean.

In short, stepping out of the Saint Martin airport is basically stepping into the best vacation an Englishman could ever have dreamed of.

Once Kieren’s had a moment to realize that he is not, in fact, dreaming (and also possibly come up with several potential paint combinations he can try to find the color of the sky), he turns to Simon, who’s stopped ranting for the moment to grin at his boyfriend.

“Happy anniversary,” Simon says.

In lieu of a verbal answer, Kieren throws his arms around Simon’s neck and kisses him, hard.


End file.
